


JanTross/MonJango Stories

by PaxDuane



Category: Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Alien Biology, Alpha Spar and Fordo as younglings, Aphrodisiacs, Astrology, Babies, Baby Names, Breeding Kink, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, In case y'all wondering I now have enablers, Jaster Mereel Lives, Jaster shows up in one line total, M/M, Mandalorian Adoption (Star Wars), Marriage Proposal, Montross doesn't betray the True Mandalorians, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Underage, Politics, Rex and Cody as newborns, This is very AU, more worldbuilding than expected, the fancy oil AU is much softer than I expected, with some mild pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: Collection of JanTross/MonJango smut prompts.1) post battle quickie2) the aforementioned time with the oil3) a proposal4) babies (of adopted and biological varieties)5) sleepy conversations about if the kids are alright, for Apples, from the Our Steps Turn Planets AUI am accepting prompts, both for the AU in 1-4 and other prompts, because I'm a glutton for punishment.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Montross
Comments: 25
Kudos: 30





	1. Post-Battle, Pre-Sitrep Quickie (Fancy Oil AU) [E]

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how to explain this.
> 
> Uh, this is for y'all who got into this pairing because of me. I'm sorry. But not really, because you all can suffer with me.
> 
> I have an upcoming AU that, once it's ready, will be posted in a different work, but it's a narrative, so you can ask for prompts from that once it's up (I'll come back and edit this/link it once that happens) and yes I'm willing to take prompts from the DDDNE ones but those may end up in another work? IDK.

Jango grunts as he hits the thin mattress of the raised pallet in the tent, barely given a moment before Montross has sprawled out on top of him, mouth back on his.

He gets a hand between them, tugging both of their ven’cabure off and tossing them to the side in a clang of metal while Montross does his level best to kark his mouth with his tongue. His other arm wraps up to brace against the back of the older man’s neck.

“Oil?” he asks, breathless, in a free second.

Montross grumbles, reaching back to a utility pocket and coming back with a small, stoppered glass bottle. “Got more of that stuff you liked,” he says, kissing Jango again when Jango whines.

It’s less that he liked that particular oil, accident as it was, and more that it lit every part of him up to the point he’d become a writhing mess that didn’t care about anything besides Montross’s cock in him. It wasn’t a _bad_ experience, but it wasn’t good either.

Montross had liked it more than anything, but the bottle is small enough that it probably won’t pack nearly as much of a punch.

“This better not kark me up for the rest of the day,” he still grumbles. “If it’s as bad as last time, you’ll have to deal with Jaster this time.”

Montross winces, there. He’s younger than Jaster, but still a lot older than Jango. That he came back from a years-long mission spying on Kyr’tsad to find the fourteen-year-old boy he’d called whelp and considered an annoyance to have become a young man he wanted to kark at every opportunity was a surprise, but if they were caught it would look very bad.

“I asked what the typical amount should be,” Montross assures him, waving the bottle in front of his nose. “And got confirmation that it shouldn’t be ingested orally.”

Jango goes cross-eyed, watching it for a moment, and then Montross is kissing him again. “Well?” he pants as he pulls away, “Get on with it.”

There’s a small pop as the bottle opens, matched nearly with the zip of Jango opening their flightsuits and pulling their cocks out.

Montross hisses when Jango takes him in hand. “Pretty sure that’s my job,” he says breathlessly. “Let me take care of you, alor’ika.”

That’s the summary of Montross’s attraction to him, really, the desire to take care of him. Well, there was also some half-remembered talk during their first run in with this oil, when Jango was so far into it. Montross had made a masiff joke—a whelp turned into a breeding bitch.

“Then hurry up, old man,” Jango challenges, releasing his cock and wrapping that arm across the top breadth of his shoulders, one leg coming up to curl against his hip.

Montross chuckles then watches in fascination as Jango’s face twists when he liberally drizzles the oil over his cock.

“Haa,” Jango breathes, head thrown back. “Hits like a truck, still.”

Montross is all human, so it doesn’t affect him like it does a sentient with genetic history reaching across half the galaxy, which Jango honestly finds unfair.

“But better than last time?” Montross asks, smirking.

“Shut up,” Jango pants, pulling himself up a little to bury his nose in Montross’s neck. He smells safe and good and. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“You’re certainly more talkative,” Montross allows, tilting his head slightly so Jango has more room.

Jango whines as he wraps his hand around both of their cocks and starts to stroke. His hands are big enough to easily hold both of them; all of him is big enough to wrap around Jango, to hold him and pin him down and.

Jango moans and grinds closer, stars flashing behind his eyes as the oil permeates his skin more and more.

Montross chuckles right in his ear and bears down on him, shifting the arm keeping him up from full length to going down onto his elbow so Jango doesn’t have to work quite so hard to get contact.

Their hal’cabure clang together, making Jango whine both from the harsh extra stimulation to his ears and the lack of skin-to-skin contact. They don’t have time to take off their armor, and even then Jango would get needy and want even more. This oil may make that desire faster coming but it wasn’t the cause of it. He liked the feeling of being filled up by Montross’s cock far too much.

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” Montross soothes, tugging him back by his curls so he can smother the noises with a kiss. “I’ll take care of you.”

“How much longer do we have?” Jango mumbles into his mouth.

“Fifteen minutes. Do you think you’ll be able to pull yourself back together by then?”

Jango feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “M’close.”

Montross’s laugh rumbles through him again. “You going to come for me, cyar’ika?”

“Mmhm,” Jango hums. His vision goes glassy. “Wanna come for you.”

“Jate, cyar’ika,” Montross murmurs, then kisses him again as he pumps his hand over their cocks.

Jango’s back arches, then he shakes against the pallet as he spills over Montross’s hand, sighing and whimpering when the stimulation doesn’t stop. Then Montross’s spend joins his own and the older man pulls away, coming back with a damp wipe to clean the mess off of his cock and beskar’gam.

Montross laughs when Jango curls near around his arm, looking up petulantly that they have to put themselves back together and head out. He knocks a knuckle under Jango’s chin. “Come on, Jan’ika, before your buir comes to find us.”

“I believe it’s a little late for that,” Jaster’s disappointed voice calls from the entryway of the tent.


	2. The Time with the Oil (Fancy Oil AU) [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> “Haa,” Jango breathes, head thrown back. “Hits like a truck, still.” 
> 
> Montross is all human, so it doesn’t affect him like it does a sentient with genetic history reaching across half the galaxy, which Jango honestly finds unfair. 
> 
> “But better than last time?” Montross asks, smirking. 
> 
> “Shut up,” Jango pants, pulling himself up a little to bury his nose in Montross’s neck. He smells safe and good and. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” 
> 
> “You’re certainly more talkative,” Montross allows, tilting his head slightly so Jango has more room. 
> 
> Or, an explaination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubious consent because of non-consensual drug use/aphrodisiac from a third party, but it's a pre-established relationship and both characters involved end up thinking of it as consensual _between them_ if not the situation that would have happened if the non-consensual drug use/aphrodisiac had happened, though they probably would have still had post-mission sex.
> 
> They were here to kill the dude anyways, but Jango got caught a little early.

Montross, Jango figures, is going to hold this over his head for ages.

The slaver laughs at his prone body and he glares up at the man. Electricity is still flowing through him, but he’s getting used to it.

“I’ve heard Mandos tend to not be human,” the slaver muses.

Jango twitches—there’s a lot of ways that knowledge can go, especially for slavers.

“Get the helmet off,” the slaver commands of the two guards towering over Jango.

One fumbles with the edge before the other finds the seal and the buy’ce is torn from his head.

“Hm,” the slavery starts, swishing wine in his glass. The slave girls beside him flinch. “Well, you could still be near human, I suppose. Let’s try it. Get the rest off of him.”

Jango snarls as the guards strip his armor and flightsuit off him, then after a moment of confusion, his blacks and smalls until he’s completely bare, before pinning him to the ground.

The slaver’s eyes stick to him as the man digs out a large glass bottle, about the size of a wine bottle but filled with something much more viscous. The girls flinch again. Whatever’s in there has been used against them.

The slaver gets up from his ostentatious chair, bottle in hand, and meanders over to where the guards are pinning Jango down. “Even if you don’t react,” the slaver muses, “This is a good oil for opening men up.”

Jango tenses and snarls, ready to slam his way out of the guards’ grips.

A blaster bolt shatters the bottle, class and oil flying everywhere.

Much of it lands on him, sliding down his face and burning. He opens his mouth to call out to Montross, who is already making quick work of the slaver and the guards, only to sputter at the taste of the oil.

Everything heats up, like a bad spice trip, and suddenly the battle noises around him are too much.

“Jango?” Montross calls out, suddenly kneeling before him. The air smells of plasma and blaster oil and beskar and Montross’s characteristic sage scent.

His thighs ache where they are sticking together with sweat. There’s a smooth sound of Rhyl, then Montross’s gravelly voice answering, but he can’t make anything out specifically. It’s all so much.

Then Montross picks him up like he’s a sack of tubers and every synapse in his brain trains on the older man. Safe, his brain says, matematemate.

Jango whines, pressing up against Montross’s beskar’gam. The cool metal feels good against his skin, though it bites dangerously at first. He shoves his nose up under the edge of Montross’s buy’ce.

“Pare, cyar’ika,” Montross soothes, one hand caressing Jango’s bare back. “Let me get you to a bed.”

But they’re not moving, Jango wants to say. There’s movement around them, the girls picking up his beskar’gam and clothing and putting it into a familiar duffel bag. When it’s full, Montross thanks them and swings it up onto his shoulder and _then_ they’re moving.

Jango whimpers at the chill of the winter air outside the nearly steamed building the slaver had been making a hideout of, but soon the Firespray is in sight and he relaxes.

Inside, Montross nearly tosses him onto the thin mattress of their bunk before stripping out of his own beskar’gam. “The girls said it’s an aphrodisiac you got coated in,” Montross says with no little amusement as he blankets Jango. “I’ll be fine, but you’ll need some help. You want my help, cyar’ika?”

Jango nods enthusiastically, cupping the older man’s face and kissing him. His other hand follows thick muscle down his arm, tugging his wrist around so his hand splays across his ass.

Montross laughs into the kiss, pressing Jango back against the mattress. “So eager. It usually takes a bit of time to get you in the mood for that.”

Thankfully, his fingers only come back up to swipe off some oil that has been dripping across Jango’s skin before they’re pressing into him.

Jango moans, throwing his head back against the mattress. He snakes a leg about to wrap around Montross’s waist in an attempt to get them closer.

Montross doesn’t tease; he never teases Jango when he opens him up but that’s usually because Jango’s kept him waiting. This time, Jango dimly guesses that it’s half habit and half worry.

It’s almost not _enough_ prep, this time, because Jango’s mouth falls open in a silent scream—it feels like the other man is just…rearranging him. His head swims, even as he can tell he’s clinging closer, near sobbing for skin-to-skin contact and _fastermoreharder_.

Montross’s laughter rumbles through him. “Kark,” he murmurs, Jango nearly plastered to his chest. “Can you cling any harder?”

Jango glowers at him for a moment before he’s caught up in the sensations again, whimpering as Montross kisses his neck and collarbones.

“The whelp’s grown up to be a breeding bitch,” Montross murmurs, nearly too quiet for Jango to hear. It makes him flush warmer with embarrassment and fury and a shameful amount of desire, at that thought. “And now my little breeding bitch is in heat, hmm?”

Jango near sobs from all the stimulation, of the dimly noted assault on his senses from everything around them as much as the onslaught of sexual stimulation, fingers digging into Montross’s back.

Montross drags him in for another kiss, one that’s messy and wet and breathless.

Jango curls his fingers over Montross’s neck and, pressing their foreheads together and gasping as the combination of Montross’s thrusts and the slide of his cock between their stomachs finally tosses him over the edge and he comes.

He collapses back on the mattress, though his legs remain wrapped around Montross’s waist.

Montross’s gaze is heavy, full of desire and a surprising amount of awe. He settles a hand on Jango’s hip and slows his thrusts. “Hey,” he murmurs once he decides Jango must be coming out of the high. “I’m gonna pull—.”

“No,” Jango whines, reaching hold onto his arm. “In-inside,” he pants.

“Jan’ika,” Montross tries, but Jango just tightens his legs. “Jango.”

“What,” Jango pants, rolling his hips, “Not want to breed me? Thought I was your little breeding bitch.”

Montross recoils, mouth working but no words coming out. “I didn’t mean—Jan’ika. Cyar’ika.”

“I want it,” Jango insists. “Come on, give it to me.”

“You’re still under the influence of that damn oil,” Montross snarls, but he sharply speeds up his thrusts again, making Jango moan.

Now that he’s come, it’s a pleasant feeling no matter that he’s right on that edge of overstimulation and practically floating on endorphins. “Want your come in me,” he insists, “Wanna be your little breeding bitch.”

Montross nearly chokes. “Jango,” he breathes. “Kark, you’ll be the death of me. You’re going to want to murder me once you’re all out of this, anyways.”

Jango squirms into it as Montross shoves deep into him and spills inside him, falling over with his hands on either side of Jango’s head. Jango looks up, satisfied and smug, at his expression of disbelief. Only then does he loosen the grip his legs had kept on Montross’s waist, letting them fall wide open on either side of the older man’s knees as he pulls out.

“Kark,” Montross breathes again, dipping his head to bring Jango into Keldabe. “Cyar’ika, cyare.”

Jango rubs soothing hands on the others’ broad shoulders.

After a long moment, Montross pulls away to clean them both up and Jango falls asleep to the feeling of soft, damp cloth stroking across his skin.

When he wakes up, fully free of the aphrodisiac’s influence, he is a bit disgusted by the drying spend sticking inside him and inside his thighs, but not nearly as much as he might have expected. He strolls, nude, to the cockpit where Montross is fully armored again and dozing. He wakes the older man by sitting on his lap.

“You’re going to clean me up,” he tells the other plainly as the older man’s hands settle on his waist. “I didn’t really get to enjoy coming, before, so you should clean me up and make it _enjoyable_.”

Montross’s eyes drag over his naked body. “Really, now?”

Jango leans close, a hair away from a kiss. “Come on, not wanting to give your ikaa’bu some attention?”

Montross flushes brightly, pale complexion highlighting it. “You,” he repeats from earlier, nearly as breathless, “Will be the death of me.”

Jango smirks as he kisses him.


	3. Proposal (Fancy Oil AU) [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pax: ah yes, I'm gonna write some more breeding kink for this AU because Calyxia's comment reminded me it's my favorite.
> 
> Jango: *says something from the riduurok vows*
> 
> Montross: *proposes*
> 
> Pax: ah. well. that happened.

Jango peers around the front room of the house. It’s kind of impersonal, stripped of personality and painted plain colors. He doesn’t like it.

Montross laughs. “It offends you?” he asks.

“There’s nothing here,” Jango complains, going back to untying his boots to leave them in the entrance way. Once they’re off, he pads over to Montross, who is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “Copaa’ mureyc,” he huffs.

Montross obliges him, leaning down and cupping the back of his neck as they kiss. “I can’t promise you’ll like the rest, either,” he says without shame. “It’s been a long time since I’ve used anywhere as more than a stop away. But we’ll change that.”

Jango looks curiously past him, into the kitchen. There, too, it’s mostly empty but it does speak of some personality. After all, not many people go for such a nice stove. It’s only a moment, though, because then Montross is leading him down the hall and to a bedroom.

Jango wrinkles his nose at the room. At least here it smells heavily of sage, safe and used, but it’s bland.

Montross lifts him by the waist and deposits him on the bed and oh, he can see where the splurging went in this house. The stove and the bed.

He shuts his eyes and moans at the feeling of the plush mattress. It’s huge, too, well enough a size that the two of them could spread out and not touch each other.

“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” Montross asks, not hiding his laughter very well.

Jango doesn’t open his eyes, instead carefully spreading his legs and making Montross inhale sharply. Slowly, almost too slowly, the older man sweeps his hands along the inside of Jango’s thighs, massaging along the scent glands there then sweeping back up to cup him.

“So,” Montross says, right by his ear as Jango squirms comfortably at the mixing of their scents on the bed. “Right to it?”

Jango cracks one eye to look at him, smiling sweetly. “If you’re up to it.”

Montross laughs fully at that, fingers dipping to press the center seam of Jango's leggings against his balls and perineum, making him keen. “Oh, when it’s you, I’m up for about anything,” Montross assures him. “Even if my body doesn’t always keep up.” He kisses Jango’s neck. “But right now, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Jango opens both eyes and turns on his side, trapping Montross’s hand between his thighs. One of his own reaches up to dance across Montross’s jaw. “I want you to kark an ikaad into me,” he murmurs.

Again, Montross sucks in a breath. “Jan’ika, I’m not...”

Jango rolls his eyes. “I’m still on birth control,” he assures the older man wryly. “But consider it…practice.”

“Practice,” Montross says flatly, though Jango can feel the other’s excitement. He flips Jango onto his front, extracting his hand only to press it right back against the same spot. “Practice knocking you up? Practice for making you big with _my_ child? Oh, you’d make such beautiful babies, Jango.”

Carefully, too careful and too gentle, the older man peels Jango’s leggings and smalls off him before rucking up his tunic. He likes Jango half dressed when he’s debauched.

Jango ducks his smile into his arms as Montross undresses, then keeps it there as he allows his hips to be maneuvered up though he’s surprised when Montross tucks a pillow under them instead of having him brace himself on his knees. Before he can ask, though, the older man sets his teeth on Jango’s neck and all thoughts fly out the window.

“Gorgeous,” Montross whispers, like it’s some secret just for him. Then he sweeps one hand down Jango’s side, a pleasant feeling that nearly distracts from the sound of an oil bottle being unsealed.

Jango makes a curious noise.

“Just the plain stuff,” Montross tells him, “Since this is just _practice_.”

Jango scowls. He’s really gotten used to the drugged oil, in low doses. He’s built up enough tolerance that it just makes him warm and floaty and very, very horny. “Well, I guess it is the _practical_ choice.” Montross knows well enough by this point what Jango thinks of practical things when they’re off the battlefield. When an oiled finger presses against his entrance, he rolls his hips back the best he can at this angle and manages to capture the tip for a moment.

“Patience, cyar’ika,” Montross coos, before pressing his finger in.

Jango huffs but settles as the older man settles on his side, stomach pressed against Jango’s hip, He’s tall enough that he can still kiss Jango’s neck and jaw and he takes full advantage, distracting him through the parts of prep that he finds uncomfortable or boring.

Jango whines when Montross pulls all four fingers out, to the other’s amusement.

Montross tugs one of Jango’s legs up and over his hip, only to click his tongue when Jango attempts to go on his side. Slowly, he rearranges Jango so his hips are on their side, his stomach twisting from them to his chest and arms still pressed into the mattress.

“What…?” Jango starts to ask, going wide eyed as Montross gets up on his knees and hooks one of Jango’s ankles onto his shoulder.

“Yaim’la?” Montross asks, smug and worried all in one.

“Elek.” He watches their bodies as Montross’s cock is slowly settled inside of him. “Kark,” he mutters as he ducks his head again, breathless from the sight as much as the feeling of being filled.

Montross braces his raised leg with one arm and begins to roll his hips, karking Jango with smooth, little thrusts.

Jango dissolves into pants and moans as the older man targets some of the most sensitive spots inside of him.

“So good for me,” Montross croons, pointedly rubbing his hip up into Jango’s inner thigh, making their pheromones mix and fill the air. He’s gotten very good at playing with Jango’s non-human senses, no matter that he can’t enjoy them on his own. “So pretty. Ka’ra, you’ll look good with an ik’aad in you. I can just tell. I can’t wait to see it, see your stomach get full and round and feel little hands and feet already ready to fight.”

Jango reaches around to clutch his hand. “Mmhm,” he pants, “Yes, yes, ba’juri verde.”

Montross’s thrusts hiccup and stop, still fully seated inside him.

Jango looks over his shoulder to see the other man’s shocked expression. “Montross?” he asks. “What—.”

“Gar copaa’ gotal’ur riduurok?” Without waiting for Jango’s answer, he says, “Copaa’ gotal’ur riduurok.”

Jango kicks him lightly in the face, making the older man let him loose so Jango can pull away and roll onto his back to sit up. Jango pulls him close, kisses him. “Ret? I…I haven’t really thought about it.”

Montross nods thoughtfully. “Think about it,” he entreats, kissing him again. Then, he presses Jango back into the mattress, hips still on top of the pillow, and karks him till he screams.

Later, when they’re cleaned up and dozing, Jango traces patterns onto Montross’s chest and thinks about the house, about the changes that would need to be made for comfort and for little feet and hands. Then, finally, he tucks his face into Montross’s neck and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copaa' mureyc: Want kiss. Stolen from MadLulu's series because I didn't want to try to figure out grammar.  
> Yaim'la: Homey, comfy, other similar synonyms.  
> Bajuri verde: Raise warriors.  
> Gar copaa' / Copaa': You want / I want  
> Gotal'ur riduurok: Make a love bond, say the marriage vows. Stolen from Wrenette's indomitable heart, again because I didn't want to try and figure out grammar, this time because I couldn't figure out the perfect phrase I KNEW I'd read somewhere. Eventually I figured out which fic I'd found it in.
> 
> Both mentioned fics are JangObi and awesome.


	4. Tati; ra T'ad'e {Twins} (Fancy Oil AU) [T]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genetics are contentious, in Mandalore sector. So, they must remember, are politics.
> 
> Jango has twins. The foundlings will always be adjusting. And family politics are sat firmly out the threshold.

“Alvha, Parad, Vodda,” Montross calls, gaining the three young foundlings’ attention. Vodda comes running across the room from the moment his name is called, though Alvha and Parad glower and come along sullenly. Montross hides his laughter, but he knows all three of them can snese he’s amused by Alvha and Parad’s continued show of distaste for him. They are far fonder of Jango, which Montross can somewhat agree with, but at least Vodda has a cheerful disposition to compliment the trio’s shared combative personalities. “Do you want to meet the ikaade?”

That gets the trio’s attention wholeheartedly.

“Ikaade?” Parad asks, though, catching the plural. “I thought there was only going to be one!”

“There are two,” Montross explains patiently. “The other is smaller and good at hiding.”

Parad considers this. “I’ll teach them to hide out here.”

“Are you three ready to meet them?” Montross asks. “I haven’t met them either.”

The decision was the right one, it seems, as all three take that as their due.

“Ready,” Parad decides, the leader as always. He reaches up to take Montross’s hand, while Vodda takes his other and clings to Alvha to bring him along.

Montross leads the trio to the room where Jango and their ikaade are settled.

Jango is leaning up against innumerable pillows, two squirming newborns naked against his bare chest, laughing with the midwife. Their foundlings forge ahead, but Montross stops in the doorway, as much out of shock as out of love. One of the twins is blonde.

The foundlings struggle up onto the bed, to Jango and the midwife’s amusement, and cluster by Jango’s hip.

“These are your kih’tate,” Jango says, accent thicker with exhaustion.

Montross smiles and comes further in, nodding to the midwife and settling on the edge of the bed on Jango’s other side.

“Hello,” he whispers, gently stroking the dark cheek of the blonde twin. Then he leans over to softly kiss Jango, to the foundlings quiet but exaggerated disgust.

Jango smiles into the kiss. “They were born for glory,” he says when he pulls back, eyes loving on the two quiet babies.

“Glory?” Montross asks.

The midwife laughs. “They were born in the house of History,” she explains, lekku twitching.

“House?” Vodda asks, not taking his eyes of his kih’vode. “Like House Mereel?”

“Not quite, though I wouldn’t be surprised if your ba’buir was born similarly.” The midwife and Jango exchange a look. “It means what jate’kara they were born under. It depends on where and when they were born.”

“I was born in the house of Makers,” Jango explains. “So I was named for the god of smithing. But not every parent name their children for their house.”

“But will you?” Alvha asks, staring with huge eyes at the dark-haired twin.

“I’d like to.” Jango looks to Montross and he can’t help but nod, not when his venriduur looks so determined and brittle. He wouldn’t have argued, anyways. He’ll give Jango anything.

“Kote,” Jango says of the dark haired one. “They will inspire others.”

Montross smiles.

Jango looks more hesitant about their little blonde. “Rai?” he offers, frowning at the little one. It’s a Chalacti word for ruler, and Concord Dawn has long been a place for Chalactan diaspora.

“In Kalevalan,” Montross says slowly, “The word is Rex.”

Vodda leans over a little to gently kiss the baby’s nose before pulling back quickly. “Maybe they can be Rex but Rai’ka?”

Jango stares first at the youngest of their foundlings then at the new youngest and smiles. “Yes, I think that would be good.” Quietly, he and Montross claim their children and the foundlings claim their new vode before they’re ushered off to bed.

Jango then wrinkles his nose at the twins. “They’re technically Kryzes,” he says, mournful.

Montross nods sullenly. “My brother will want to meet them.”

Kalevalans brought strange ideas to Mandalore, like the preference for biological children over foundlings and, far worse in Jango’s mind, the disregard of divorcing your siblings or parents. Death Watch had followed suit, while marrying heavily into the Kalevalan stock, and only broke such taboos when they felt they could get more out of it.

Tor Vizsla had happily called Jaster and his blood sibling dar’vode, but made it deeply clear his other relatives could not follow suit.

“For another star rise,” Jango sighs, cuddling his hard work from the last seven months. “They’ll have surgery in the next few days and spend at most an hour in bacta. Then they will be able to hear us.”

“You did so well,” Montross tells him, petting his sweat-damp hair where it’s escaped its braids and is curling around his face. “I wish I’d been here with you, though mhar ade would have gutted me.”

Jango snickers. “They like you more than you give them credit.”

Montross kisses him, soft and slow. “Yes, but when I take up your time, they will protest every moment.”

“They want to be a family, ner venriduur,” Jango says, before pulling him in for another kiss. “They complain when you’re not around, you know. ‘Where’s Mon’buir? We want Mon’buir.’”

Montross stares at him. “Really?”

“You didn’t know?” Jango laughs. “I’m their gateway into the Force, and I know scenting instinctually. But you’ve made yourself a safe place for them.”

Montross had been the one to find them, huddled under rubble and a target for the Death Watch splinter they were taking out that day. He’d protected them and fought off the two dar'manda demagolka until Jango could arrive. Vodda hadn’t been very much a toddler yet and Parad, the eldest, wasn’t even eight. It had tossed their plan for biological children back by two years and honestly, he didn’t mind. He loved all of these children, all equally by average (which, of course, could vary when Alvha or Parad got up to mischief).

Montross presses his forehead to Jango’s temple. “I wish my brother wasn’t such a sack of shit.”

Jango hums sympathetically. “At least they have a ba’buir who spoils all of them and considers them all our children.”

“Haat.” He kisses Jango’s neck. “Sleep, cyare. I’ll handle everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alvha -- Alpha / Alpha-17. 17 months between he and Parad. Name to mean "homeland". Age 8.   
> Parad -- Spar / Alpha-02. The eldest. Name to mean "awaited child" and pronounced Paar-Add. Age 10.  
> Vodda -- Fordo / Alpha-77. 77 months between he and Parad. Name to mean "surviving twin/former sibling" and pronounced Vohd-dah. Both a strong name and a sad one. Age 3.   
> Their parents were Concordians killed by Death Watch. Alvha was the first of the three to be born on Concordia. 
> 
> Jango and Mandalorians with similar genetic makeup gestate for 7 months. 
> 
> Ikaade -- Infants, plural. Singular is Ikaad.   
> Kih'tate -- Concordian dialect, specifically Concord Dawn, for younger siblings. Tat/tate in my fics comes from Chalacti (also my language building) tati, twin; akktat, younger sibling; and ortat, older sibling. 
> 
> Mandalorians are very much starfarers, so I felt it was fitting they'd have some astrology-type tradition, especially on Concord Dawn where there hasn't been as much Kalevalan influence. It's not strongly believed in, more of a back of the mind superstition. If a being happens to become well known for a trait that fits the house they were born under, that will be blamed. Jango is not quite telling the truth about his name, either, because while his Mandalorian name *is* based on the deity of smithing (again, mine), it was also chosen for its similarity to his Chalactan name, Jannat. But in this AU he's less familiar with that so he only refers to his Mando name. The House of History means stars lining to the core are in the sky during the birth, which is pretty uncommon but not terribly rare. The House of Makers I'm less certain of.  
> Jate'kara -- Good stars. Considered more guiding stars in this case.  
> Ba'buir -- Grandparent (Jaster, in this case. They also have ba'vodu Arla)  
> Kote -- Glory.  
> Rai -- Chalacti (from Sanskrit, a derivative of Raja, can also mean prince or chieftan) for King.   
> Rex -- Kalevalan (from Latin, Kalevalans probably borrowed it from an older language) for King. 
> 
> Hello and welcome to my terrible terrible, headcanons. I headcanon Montross as being a runaway Kryze in almost all my fics with him. Mostly because I hate the Kryzes and love politics. Also, recently, I decided that an added layer of fucked up should be that, after Jaster fled Concord Dawn for doing a (good) murder, he got adopted by the previous Mand'alor to make his choice for his successor easier to see. That Mand'alor happened to be Tor Vizsla's father. Tor thought he was going to inherit, so he preyed on people's dislike of that Mand'alor and Jaster's reforms to splinter off into Death Watch when his father died and Jaster was elected. Jaster and Tor's blood sibling (an OC) declared him dar'vod and he them. Jaster had Mereel as a name to fall back to and adopted sibling under that name until that sibling gave up their name to become the technical head of the mercenary company as their smith. There's more that I'll explore elsewhere, but that's the jist. 
> 
> Hearing surgery is for correcting Togruta hearing pathways to humanoid ears! Jango had it too, as a child. 
> 
> Mhar ade -- My best attempt at "our children", mhar coming from mhi "us"  
> Ner venriduur -- My future spouse. Sup! They still aren't married yet.   
> Dar'manda demagolka -- Death Watch idiots willing to kill children are declared no longer Mandalorian and considered Fucking Terrible People, The Worst.   
> Haat -- Basically "That's true" / "That's the truth."


	5. Prompt Fill -- Naps and Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the leader of an entire system is tiring. Honestly, so is co-parenting a planetary leader. 
> 
> (late Our Steps Turn Planets moment)

“…Why are you petting me?”

Montross huffs and pokes at Jango’s cheek. “You passed out.”

“…and you started petting me.” Jango struggles up, back cracking as he stretches. “Stars, you are a sap.”

“A sap?” Montross asks, voice flat, settling his hands on the Mand’alor’s hips. “I’m not sure I would agree with you there, ‘alor.”

Jango snickers, resting his forearms against his shoulders. “Mmhm, and who else would you start petting?”

Montross’s eyes glaze over. “Okay,” he admits, “Maybe I am a sap.”

Jango nods, satisfied. “Come on, unintended nap means I need to actually sleep.”

“Oh, really? Not how snappy you’ve been the last few hours?”

Jango scoffs.

“Rude,” Montross mutters, then follows as Jango climbs off the sofa. “You have been snappy.”

“I don’t always have to be a picture of patience.” He falls face first into the bed. “Gods why did I sign up for this.”

“If I remember correctly, you didn’t.” Montross settles beside him. “Have you called Rabe and the other girls?”

“No. Wren called just when I had time.”

“And then you passed out on the couch.”

“And then I passed out on the couch.” Jango snakes an arm out to pinch him.

He laughs. “Come on, ‘alor, proper sleep then we’ll figure out a time to make the call.”

Jango flops over onto his back to squint at him. “Did they comm you?”

“Might’ve. Asked if you were taking care of yourself. So I went to look for you.”

“You sent them pictures, didn’t you?”

“I need to get points with them somehow. They’re more liable to kill me than Arla is at this point.”

“That may just be Arla’s plan.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Which is why I need the points.”

Jango hums. “It’s probably good for Padme, too.”

“Probably. Gods and Stars, you were elected to save your life, she was just…”

“Don’t think about it, you’ll want to burn something down. Or someone alive.”

“Do you have a target in mind?”

“There’s a reason the bounty on Senator Palpatine is so high. I didn’t trust him from the beginning.”

“And then he was in place to gain a lot with the blockade.”

Jango squints at him again. “For all you say you’re not made to be a parent, you do a good job of thinking like one.”

Montross scowls. “Go to sleep, ‘alor.”


End file.
